Off The Edge
by La Sorelli
Summary: Oneshot. The Persian and Christine have an encounter on the roof. A non-sexual encounter, in case that needs to be explained.


The edge of the roof grows friendlier, minute by minute. A thousand cruel whispers fill my poor, besotted mind as I stand there in the dark—and they all belong to the same voice. I don't myself anymore. I haven't known myself for weeks. I feel my right hand; covered in thick, white bandages, bulkily hidden beneath my glove. I shudder when I remember it, the dark demon which suddenly possessed me the other day. My own reflection had been a stranger, someone horrible, brought to life by an evil creator. I'd sent my hand careening into my bedroom mirror, not being strong enough to shatter it, but enough to crack it dreadfully and mutilate my hand. I saw in that mirror, what I would become if this went on…I saw my future with _him_.

I didn't explain to my maid, Cecile, why I had done it. And I definitely would never tell Mamma Valerius, it would scare her to death. What could I tell them, anyhow? "I was trying to kill my reflection." God, I couldn't. I was already thought to be mentally unhinged, by everyone, this would only confirm their suspicions. Silently, I had let a horrified Cecile bandage my bleeding hand, staring into oblivion. I knew within hours she'd run around the city, telling her friends that her mistress had at last went undone. I didn't care.

Up here, on the great roof of the opera, I had sought solace. Perhaps being so far up could shut away the horror and the whispers for a while. But they seem even louder. Maybe the memory of my first kiss, upon this very roof only days ago, could somehow make me feel better. Yet the pain is now almost unbearable. Every day, I walked around feeling like an omen of death sat upon my shoulders. And I had inadvertently shared this burden with Raoul. Erik was going to kill us both. I knew it. I did not know when or where, or even how, but I knew it was going to happen.

Dealing with the prospect of my own demise was difficult, but knowing that I had dragged Raoul—innocent, perfect, beautiful Raoul—into an inescapable trap was absolutely excruciating. I leaned over the roof, sobbing, feeling my knees buckle beneath my agony. I heard Erik's voice in my head.

_"Look what you've done. That wonderful young aristocrat is going to die now, all because of you. You should have listened to the Angel. You should have never seen him."_

"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" I cried into the darkness. Below me, I saw the street. The hard stone ground…a fall onto that from so far up would end me instantly. I moved stepped down to the very edge of the roof and leaned farther over, holding on to a statue for support. I closed my eyes and I saw myself let go. I saw my body flying, my hair and dress whipping in the wind until at last, I hit. There was a sickening noise of breaking bones as my delicate figure smashed into the cobblestones. Blood split everywhere, and bystanders shrieked when they saw me with my twisted, broken limbs. Someone knelt down to see if they could find a pulse. "She's dead," they said, "what a shame, such a young girl."

I opened my eyes and the image vanished. I was still alive, but I didn't want to be. Why should I be alive if Erik was only going to torture me, and then eventually kill me? If I was dead, Raoul would live. I loved Raoul. And he loved me, but I could not let him die for me, there was no way I deserved such a noble gesture. If I died, Erik would surely die too, and then we could both rot in hell. But at least, I hoped, they would spare me the lowest circle. That way I could look down on him and watch him suffer for all eternity. He deserved it. But then again, so did I.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? All I had to do was let go…

I felt my hand move off the statue. I balanced myself there on the roof, hundreds of feet above the ground, waiting for the moment I would be brave enough to just step off. So I stood there, waiting to jump, when a steady, foreign voice gently spoke behind me.

"Don't do that, mademoiselle."

I grabbed the statue again and turned to face The Persian. He had his hand out and was cautiously moving towards me.

"Please, go away!" I shouted at him, turning back to face the city. "I'm very busy."

"Mademoiselle Daaé, give me your hand."

"No!"

"You do not want to jump."

I looked at him, trying to hide my fear with anger, "How dare you be so presumptuous! You don't know me. You have no idea what I want."

"Ah, but I do." He said, nodding his dark head, his strange hat's tassel bobbing. "You want to get away from Erik."

I jolted, my eyes widening, "Wh-what? Erik…? What are you talking about, monsieur? I assure you I have no idea…"

"There's no need to pretend with me. For I know the monster better than anyone in this world," I stared at him in shock, he only offered me his hand again, "Please, mademoiselle, let me help you."

Stunned and relieved, I shakily took his hand. He gripped my hand with a comforting strength and carefully led me off the narrow edge, down the sloping niches and on to the safety of the flat stone. He noticed I was shaking terribly and gave me his topcoat. I thanked him, sliding it on beneath my thin shawl, feeling its previous warmth gratefully. He paced around the roof for a minute, staring into the sky with a distant longing.

"This is a lovely view, isn't it?" he sighed, marveling at the city's beauty, "but I do not think you came up here for the view, did you?"

I shook my head, feeling very foolish. He smiled sadly.

"I thought not." He came to stand directly before me, looking at me with his eyes of jade. For so long I had feared him, always going the opposite way when I saw him in the halls. All the girls said he had the "Evil Eye", but looking into his face now, I saw nothing but honesty, kindness, and a mysterious sadness that could not be masked.

"It is a tragic thing, when such a young person wants to end their life. But what is even more tragic is when that inexorable pain is caused by another human. A human who should know better than to torture another….especially one he claims to love." He knew everything; I could hear it in his voice and see it in his face. I trusted him instantly because having someone finally know all about this terrible secret was the most incredible feeling.

"Oh, monsieur…" I moaned, feeling myself release, clutching my injured hand to my chest, "I feel as if he stands behind me with scythe. I cannot escape him! Monsieur, please tell me, since you know him so well… is there any way out of this nightmare?"

"You know as well as I do that there is not, Mlle. Daaé." He said solemnly. "You let him in your soul, in your mind, and once you do that, there is no way out but death."

I shut my eyes, trying to hide from the painful blow of his words.

"It does not have to be your death, Mlle. Daaé. Nor should it be the young Vicomte's."

"Then it must be Erik's?"

"It seems the only way, does it not?" he asked, with a rather hopeless shrug of his shoulders.

I covered my mouth in fear, "Are you going to kill him?"

"I once had the chance, long ago. I could not do it. But now…" he sighed, gazing off into the dark sky again, "I believe I could."

"Monsieur, I don't mean to be rude, but you are no match for him!" I grabbed his sleeve, terrified, "I have seen his strength and the terrible violence he is capable of."

"He harmed you, did he?" The Persian demanded.

"He…" I couldn't find the words, so I rolled up my sleeves and showed him the dozens of fingerprint-shaped bruises and the long, red scratches.

"Allah!" He gasped, seizing my right arm to take a closer look. His square jaw shook with clenched fury. "The beast…how could he do this? He swore to me…" he looked up at me quickly, catching himself, and did not finish his statement.

"Did he do this, as well?" he gestured to the bandages poking conspicuously out of my glove.

"No…" I blushed, "that was an accident."

He lowered his eyes at me, but said nothing about it.

"Monsieur, I am _so_ frightened."

"Of course you are." He replied, sympathetically, "I am frightened for you, Mlle. Daaé. Terribly frightened, indeed; however, you cannot let him win. Coming up here, causing harm to you, it makes him stronger. You cannot let him have complete power over you. He already has far too much, more than any man should."

I took a breath as if to speak, when a sudden sound startled us both. It was a loud cry, but distant; much like the cry Raoul and I had heard after the masked ball. I had ignored it then, but now I could not.

"Did you hear that, monsieur?" I whispered, shuddering.

"Yes. Yes, I heard it." He gazed fearfully in the direction of the sound, grabbing my arm gently. "We had better go inside."

He escorted me all the way to my dressing room, constantly looking over his shoulder, clutching at his pocket in which I assumed there was a pistol. At my door, he placed his large, dark hands on my shoulders and spoke to me with a kindness that reminded me of my dear father. With him, I did not even fear that Erik might be present within the walls.

"Mlle. Daaé, it was fate that led me to the roof tonight."

"It must have been, sir. I am very grateful for what you did. You spared me from committing a grave atrocity."

"If I had allowed such a young, beautiful woman, with so many talents, to end her life, it would have also been a grave atrocity." He smiled, bowing his head. "Tell me, Mlle. Daaé, is there anywhere you could go, a place to escape to, so you could throw him off the trail? It would only have to be for a while. He's extremely clever, yes, but if you left he would still have to sort it out over a few days."

"And in those few days…"

"I would do everything in my power to track him down. I used to be a policeman; I'm rather skilled at finding people."

I chewed my lip, "Well, the Vicomte de Chagny has been asking me to run away with him…"

"You must go!" he urged fervently, "Send a letter to your young man, and go. The sooner you leave this place, the better."

"But I have to sing, monsieur! I must…"

"Then the moment you are through. Have him prepare all the means and get out of Paris as quickly as you can. I am sure he will not hesitate at all."

"No, he will not. Although I am certain his brother won't allow it."

"Let him handle that. You already have enough to worry over."

"Sir, I am overwhelmed by your kindness." I slipped off his topcoat, returning it to him graciously.

He waved his hand, "It is nothing to be kind to a good lady, like yourself."

The great clock in the entrance foyer tolled. It was past midnight.

"You must get home, mademoiselle. It is already too late." He squeezed my hand and whispered, "Keep Erik's secrets. Despite all that has happened, you must keep his secrets. If you want to be safe with your young man, _keep his secrets_."

He released my hand lucidly, bowed, and swept away. I turned to open my dressing room door. I felt the burden of his words quite heavily. What did he mean, exactly? Which secrets did I need to keep? I slid my hand into my coat pocket, looking for my dressing room key. Instead I pulled out the key to the Rue Scribe. My heart began to pound as I looked at it. I spun around, needing more answers.

"Monsieur…" I called out; but The Persian was gone.


End file.
